The Mentor
by duckie lover 151
Summary: Running wild was never as glamorous as it was cracked up to be. A short narrative on the life of The Tramp.


**This is only going up because I recently rewatched **_The Lady and the Tramp _**with my sister and this inspiration struck. I swear, I'm also working on updates for stories that people are actually waiting on, and with any luck, they'll be up soon.**

**Anyway… This was originally going to be focused much more on Buster, but it turned out to be more about Tramp than anything else. Oh well.**

**The Mentor**

There had been a time when he had had a home. He remembered it well, though he did his best not to think of it too often. It had been a dark place. Too dark for a pup just starting to get his bearings in the world.

The man who had been his owner called him Homer on the good days. On the bad days… Well, on the bad days he had other names.

The house had been a learning experience. When to stay out of sight. Where to walk to avoid the shards of broken beer bottles. How best to lick a wound clean. And the most important lesson of all: How to escape from a bad situation.

And when he escaped, the freedom had been almost overwhelming. Never had the air tasted so clean, the grass beneath his feet felt so soft. But the exhilaration had quickly worn off. The night had been cold, and he'd spent the majority of it running from one alley to the next, being chased out of territories already claimed by older, more experienced strays.

The first time he'd spent a night in the pound had been terrifying. The stars, or any light for that matter, had been nearly indistinguishable in the darkness. The howls and moans of the other dogs still rang in his ears.

He had dug his way out as inconspicuously as possible the first time. Later, back out on the streets, he had put himself through a training of sorts. He took a place for his own. (Few others had any interest in the shed by the railroad tracks. The place may have provided shelter, but it was awfully loud.) He searched out the restaurants with the owners most likely to hand out scraps and discovered the best alleys to forage for food when free handouts weren't an option. He taught himself to undo locks and how to avoid capture altogether.

Slowly, the streets became familiar to him. Slowly, he learned to survive. And slowly, he came to be legitimately happy with the life he'd been thrown into. Slowly, he grew up.

He'd acquired many names over the years. Plenty to make up for the one he'd discarded. Mangy mutt. Nuisance. Thief. But only one stuck. The Tramp.

It was how he started introducing himself when he had to make contact with the other strays. And his opinion of the other street dogs changed as he grew to be more experienced. He began to enjoy socializing with them, especially the females. Occasionally, he would run into one that was aggressive and territorial, but for the most part they were like him: survivors, not predators.

These new acquaintances (Allies? Friends?) didn't alter his life too much. The Tramp was still a loner, looking out for himself, first and foremost. And the last person he'd expected to change that was a defenseless Doberman puppy.

But that's what he came home to one night. His shed had been abandoned by all but himself for so long that the scent of another dog had completely blindsided him. As he'd crept forward, he'd spotted the puppy cowering in the corner, the smell of fresh blood strong.

The Tramp didn't have anything against puppies. They were cute and innocent and nostalgically entertaining. But their welfare wasn't his responsibility, and he hadn't planned to change that anytime soon. He planned to clean the kid up and send him on his way, which was more than anyone had ever done for him. If he was strong enough, clever enough, he would learn to make it on his own. If not, well that was the game called life. This strange puppy was not his problem.

And that first night, he'd honestly believed it. This was a temporary issue. He could escape from it unscathed, no problem. Even when the kid's wounds turned out to be more serious than he'd anticipated. Even when he realized he knew all too well the type of place he had come from. Even when his heart ached a little too strongly at the sight.

Even then he planned to stay true to his word. He cleaned the kid up as best he could and, okay, he let him stay the night, but only because it was pouring outside. He wanted the puppy to learn how to fend for himself, but he wasn't going to set him up to fail. He deserved a fighting chance, right?

Things were looking considerably brighter in the morning and, yeah, he should have cut his ties and kicked him out right then and there, but a few pointers couldn't hurt, right? He showed the kid around, egged on by the way he took everything in with all the eager, wide-eyed innocence of the puppy he was. Seriously, The Tramp couldn't remember ever feeling that young and hopeful.

And after they'd scrounged up breakfast, he sent the kid on his way, simple as that. The Tramp could go back to living his life, no strings attached.

He'd figured he was home free (a phrase that had always been bizarre to him) until a familiar Doberman puppy had showed up on his metaphorical doorstep a week later.

At first he'd been irritated, fully intent on telling the pup off. Just because he had a kind heart didn't mean he had any interest in looking after someone else. But the puppy who'd come looking for him wasn't the same one who had accidentally stumbled across him the first time. He had changed. Granted, it had only been a week, but he already had a tougher air about him. The kid was a fighter, he'd give him that.

So the deserved praise was given before Tramp brushed him off again. Maybe he _was_ a little proud, but he had other things to do, places to be. He should have known that wouldn't be the end of it.

The kid was fully capable of taking care of himself, as his absences proved. But he showed up just often enough so that The Tramp couldn't forget he was grateful for that first act of kindness he'd been shown. Even if he wanted to. But the funny thing was… the overwhelming desire to stay away from this particular stray wasn't quite so prevalent anymore. Perhaps it was because he wasn't helpless anymore.

So he learned to tolerate his company, even enjoy it at times. Somewhere along the way he had stopped being 'the kid' and started being 'Buster', a nickname he'd eagerly taken on to replace the one The Tramp had never learned. No so unlike Tramp himself if he stopped to think about it.

There was safety in unconditional companionship, danger in dependence. Buster learned fast, but he always returned. And as the younger dog grew up, Tramp saw a hatred that grew with him. The early jealousy he had held for the more fortunate of their kind had slowly morphed into something much darker.

Tramp himself felt no animosity toward the domestic dogs. Even the most entitled of the bunch he found to be more amusing than anything else. Which wasn't to say he _envied_ them their positions in life. No, The Tramp had had his time as a collared dog, and he felt no desire to return to such a life. He was just a little more understanding toward them than most strays.

So no one could have been more surprised when one of the most accomplished street dogs of all time fell for a prissy house-pet. And he fell hard.

He hadn't thought twice before leaving the rough life behind. Granted, it took some time, getting used to the leash-and-collar lifestyle, but Jim Dear and Darling were very different from his first owner. And they had Lady, which really overruled any qualms he might have had about belonging to someone.

Of course, there were still times when he'd look around the fenced in yard and feel trapped. And sometimes he'd wonder about the fates of the other strays whose company he'd come to enjoy. Had Buster returned to the railroad shed to find it abandoned for good this time? Had he asked around to find out what had happened to him? In the end, who had he gotten the story from? And what slant had they put on it?

Occasionally, the guilt would creep into his heart, and he'd be forced to quash it as swiftly as was possible. _He wasn't your responsibility, _he would remind himself. _He can take care of himself, and you already saved his life once. You don't owe him anything. _

In truth, all he would have to do to focus his wandering mind was look at his four puppies. They were a handful enough, and the fact that they were _his_ was still mind-blowing at times.

So even if his new life could get a little claustrophobic at times, he felt no real desire to go back. The freedom wasn't worth the need to constantly worry about dog catchers and where your next meal was going to come from.

It may not be what he had expected, but with Lady by his side, he had everything he wanted.

**Review please! (I own nothing)**

**And here I'd thought I'd gotten past my days of sappy endings… Oh well. (:**


End file.
